At Night, after finishing kendo club practice, Hikigaya Hachiman dragged his half-dead body home, muttering a lifeless "I'm back."
'No response.'
Not that he expected one—his parents were never home at this hour. But the living room light was on, which meant one thing: his little sister was home.
"Komachi?"
He called out while trudging toward the living room, and sure enough—there she was, lying on the couch.
Hikigaya Komachi.
My sister.
Her name fits her perfectly—like a small, cozy town.
Not particularly prosperous, but because we've been together since forever, that very familiarity makes her seem cute instead of underdeveloped.
And since we've grown up together, she can see right through me.
No matter how strong I pretend to be out there, as if I've been possessed by the Great Bodhisattva Hachiman, before her, every bit of that toughness crumbles away.
If I had to describe little sisters as a species, they're kind of like your old hometown.
Sometimes annoying, always comforting.
A person without a hometown is like a can of coffee with no pull tab—it spills everywhere before you can even drink it, gets contaminated by all sorts of filth, and becomes undrinkable.
Likewise, a person without a little sister is like Jesus without a cross, he can neither become divine nor be resurrected.
If someone asked me to summarize the importance of little sisters to the world, I'd say—no, you've got it all wrong.
The logic itself is flawed. It's not that little sisters are important to the world.
It's that the world exists because of little sisters.
Simply put, if there were no little sisters, the world might as well just end.
And my little sister—this petite girl with mid-length black hair, about one fifty-five tall but somehow making her legs look endless in those impossibly short shorts.
This girl lying on the couch right now, munching on cookies with her headphones on while flipping through a magazine.
She's the most perfect creature in the entire universe.
Of course, my sister isn't just any little sister—she's the ultimate, top-tier, world-class little sister.
There's no debate about that.
Compared to every other sister out there, Komachi is without question the cutest. And I'm absolutely confident about it.
'Even if Hojou himself stood before me, I'd defend Komachi's place as number one in my heart, even if he thought I was gross for saying it.'
'Though... if Hojou-kun were my big brother instead.'
'I'd immediately evolve past Komachi and become the greatest creature in existence—Hikigaya Hachiman's little sister!'
'After all, if my Komachi is the best little sister in the world, then surely someone who's spent fifteen years studying her has enough experience to surpass her!'
'Anyway... speaking of which, I heard Hojou got a little sister recently. I overheard Yamauchi and the others talking about it several times in class today.'
How nice.
Now Hojou-kun can finally experience the joy of having a little sister for himself. His world is now complete.
Thinking that, I took off Komachi's headphones and called out again:
"Komachi, I'm home."
The tiny beauty on the couch lifted her head, a crumb of chocolate cookie still stuck to the corner of her mouth.
The little ahoge on her head twitched like it had just received a signal, and then—
"Ah! Onii-chan, welcome back! Sorry, sorry, Komachi didn't hear you right away! Ugh, Komachi's such a failure as a sister!"
She tapped her head lightly with her hand—complete with a self-supplied "boom~" sound effect.
'Ahh~~'
'Just like that, all my exhaustion melted away.'
Suppressing a groan of relief, I walked around the couch, tossed my school bag onto the other sofa, and sat down by her legs.
…Okay, that might've sounded weird.
But come on, there's nothing strange about a brother sitting at his sister's feet.
I used to crouch down so she could climb on my back to reach fruit off trees when we were little—it's practically tradition.
Sadly, those days are gone; Komachi's grown up now and is considerate enough not to humiliate her brother like that anymore.
Ugh… Komachi, my precious Komachi~~
Of course, that entire emotional monologue existed only in my head.
Outwardly, I just sat there quietly near her stretched-out legs.
"Komachi's feet are clean, you know!"
Noticing my gaze, she said that in her usual cute voice.
"You can even wipe them on your brother's pants if you want. After all, you are my favorite sister."
I grinned as I set my bamboo sword down on the coffee table.
Komachi's eyes curved into cheerful crescents. "Well, Komachi doesn't love you, but thanks anyway, Onii-chan~~"
So cruel...
I looked away dramatically. But come on—there's no way my sister doesn't love me.
Then I glanced back and noticed something odd—she wasn't reading a magazine this time. It was… Dad's newspaper?
"Huh? Komachi, you're not reading those silly magazines today?"
As soon as I said it, my face froze. Oh no. Not good. What if she's sick?!
She always reads those trashy "girls' power-up" magazines—the kind that teach dumb things like "Never answer a video call from your boyfriend with messy hair, or he'll think less of you! Always fix your makeup first and pretend you wake up flawless."
Or: "Don't use tacky phone charms, use cute plush ones instead!"
"Never carry wet wipes—use a folded handkerchief!"
"When greeting your boyfriend from behind, don't pat his shoulder—poke it with your finger gently!"
All that nonsense, claiming it'll boost your "feminine charm."
Komachi would read them so earnestly, nodding along like they held the secrets of the universe.
The first time I saw her agreeing with one of those articles, I died.
Like, literally dead—heart stopped, soul gone.
After that, I went to pick her up from school every day for two months straight just to make sure she hadn't been brainwashed or stolen away.
Thankfully, she was fine. The world hadn't ended yet.
Even so, I've never stopped despising those magazines.
Anyone who says you have to look perfect during a sleepy late-night video call has no idea what guys are like!
If a guy's calling you before bed, that alone deserves full marks!
What kind of idiot would complain about messy hair?!
We're not that greedy, damn it!
Once upon a time, back in my middle school days, just getting a reply full of ellipses after confessing my feelings via text was enough to make me think, Wow, she's such a polite girl.
I mean, she didn't block me, right? She even showed me her honest feelings in the most delicate way possible.
A girl like that—no, a saint like that—sniff… sniff…
And don't even get me started on those plushie ads in those magazines.
Enough with the product placement already!
But the real issue here does anyone out there actually understand how it feels when your beloved little sister smacks you on the shoulder from behind with all her strength?
That impact—it's like being hit with a supercharger.
Even an Ultraman whose color timer's flashing red could instantly recharge.
Thankfully, even while reading those dumb magazines with total focus and nodding like a bobblehead, Komachi never forgot to hit me hard enough to almost knock me over.
That was proof—proof that even if she read garbage, her brain was still clean.
But now... this is different.
Komachi was reading... Dad's favorite paper, The Sankei Daily?!
Reading a newspaper like that—this isn't good.
Komachi's in danger!
"Ah, you mean NONLO? I already finished that," Komachi said casually. "You took too long to come home, and I got bored. Then I saw an interesting headline in the paper, so I just started reading."
"What headline?!" I demanded like she'd just joined a cult.
Was my sister getting into stock trading?
Politics? Oh no—this couldn't be happening!
But no, I can't give up on her! Not my precious little sister!
"Let me see that." I said, face dead serious.
"Wow, Onii-chan, you look so worried about me, it's making Komachi so emotional~!"
She pressed her hands to her cheeks dramatically, then added brightly, "Komachi's affection point just went way up~~!"
Okay, I'll admit it—that kind of direct emotional feedback is something you only see in visual novels.
Still, I forced myself to stay serious.
"Focus, Komachi-chan. This is no time to joke around. Don't you know? Some things are cursed the moment you touch them."
Sure, our parents both have decent jobs.
Even if Komachi and I became full-time freeloaders, we could probably survive comfortably off their pension and savings for life.
But if she ever got hooked on stocks—even I, her loving brother, would have no choice but to…
No, never! Even if it meant destroying the world, I'd never abandon Komachi!
I'd kneel before the Prime Minister himself if I had to, just to delist her favorite company!
"Eh? I'm not reading anything weird, you know," she said, tilting her head adorably.
Damn it. She really knows how to act like the perfect little sister.
Looking at her, I couldn't help feeling a twinge of defeat.
Fifteen years of studying this creature, and even if I swapped roles, there's no way I could ever be a better sister than Komachi.
Also—for the record—the only reason I assume you're reading something questionable, Komachi, is because you're you.
Thankfully, before I could spiral any further, Komachi handed me the newspaper, even helpfully pointing at the article.
"Here, this one. You'll definitely be interested, Onii-chan."
Impossible.
Newspapers are basically relics—reeking of ink and ancient opinions. It's the internet age!
Who still reads this stuff? The whole medium's a fossil.
If I show up online quoting a newspaper, I'll get laughed out of every forum on the planet.
Like I'd ever care about something like—
…Huh?
Wait a second.
My eyes narrowed as I scanned the page.
"Onii-chan, didn't you used to deliver newspapers too? Dad said you'd probably end up subscribing to Sankei when you grow up."
Komachi leaned in beside me, peeking at the article.
"Hmph! I'm not the kind of man who can be bought with small favors," I said without looking up. "Unless Sankei offers me a full-time job with lifetime benefits, I'm not interested."
Honestly, if I could get into a big company like that without effort, I'd give up my dream of becoming a househusband in a heartbeat.
"Onii-chan, you always say the dumbest things," Komachi sighed, then smiled again.
"But even so, Komachi still loves you! My affection point's super high right now~!"
Yep. Drop the lowest and highest scores—I'm still giving her a perfect hundred.
Actually, no. Komachi deserves a thousand out of a hundred.
There's no such thing as deductions for the world's most perfect sister.
The Sankei Daily.
Sure, I used to make pocket money delivering it, but I've never liked that paper. Their slogan is something like "Unbiased, Unflinching, and Focused on the Facts."
Yeah, right. The moment you have to say that, you've already lost the argument. They're just another sensationalist rag pretending to be noble.
Like this article I'm staring at right now— from the culture and society section.
The headline screamed across the page:
————————————————————————
"The Disaster of Modern Japanese Literature."
————————————————————————
And throughout the piece, one name was repeatedly bolded—
Hojou Kyousuke.
The article made my hands clench so tightly the paper almost tore apart.
It was written by some guy named Matsumoto Motohiro, a self-proclaimed "regular contributor" to the paper, and a frequent guest on Fuji TV shows—basically, a professional slander dog the media keeps on a leash.
Yeah. One of those guys.
I know this type too well—writers who tailor their articles to fit the paper's agenda, and in return, the paper pays them handsomely to keep barking.
A perfectly corrupt symbiosis.
It's exactly why even couples can break up depending on which paper their families subscribe to—because newspapers don't just report news, they shape your worldview.
They brainwash you.
That's why I panicked when I saw Komachi reading one. If my adorable little sister ever turned into my dad… it'd be over.
Whenever I go out with her, Mom always worries endlessly, but Dad?
He'll hand Komachi a 10,000-yen bill, and me? I get a pathetic 1,000 yen. Every single time.
Still, Mom's gentle overprotectiveness and Dad's questionable favoritism somehow keep my cracked soul from completely shattering.
"I really do worry about you," Mom always says. "If Komachi ever gets hurt, your father will kill you."
"…"
Exactly. If he didn't read The Sankei Daily every day, would he really be this twisted?
That paper is pure evil.